


The Song of a Maid

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: ADMIT YOUR FEELINGS, Geraskier Week, Geraskier Week 2020, M/M, Sirens, monster hunt, not beta read we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:34:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22867954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: Geralt is siren hunting. It's taking forever. Jaskier is bored.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 169





	The Song of a Maid

**Author's Note:**

> Geraskier Week day 2 - Monster Hunt.

Jaskier crouched in the little cave, the lap of the waves like music to his ears. What was  _ not _ musical  _ at all _ was the hard cave floor on his knees. Or the bloody cold.

“I’m hungry,” he moaned.

“Quiet,” Geralt rumbled from the other side of the cave.

“We’ve  _ been _ quiet for  _ two days, _ and no sirens have appeared,” Jaskier groaned, looking longingly at his lute. All this beautiful landscape and he couldn’t even pick out a few notes. “Maybe I should try  _ not _ being quiet.”

“There’s first time for everything, I suppose,” Geralt bit off sarcastically.

Jaskier stood up in a huff, narrowly missing banging his head on the low cave ceiling. “That is  _ IT _ ! You… You don’t appreciate me. Why you bring me along on these monster hunts is a constant source of bafflement to me.”

“I don’t bring you,” Geralt drawled. “You follow me, whether I wish it or not.” He stared out at the lapping ocean, his face expressionless.

“Oh, don’t hold back, tell me how you  _ really  _ feel,” Jaskier deadpanned, angrily. He grabbed his lute, stomped out on to the beach. Losing his life to a siren would be a nice walk in Palace gardens compared to putting up with Geralt; the Witcher was at turns sullen, grumpy, silent, or tetchy. Or all combined, like a bear with a sore head  _ and _ a lion with a thorn in its paw  _ at the same time. _

Gods, it was tiring. But he stayed, because under all the grumpy scowling, Geralt had saved his skinny bard’s behind again and again, and because, although Jaskier was loathe to admit it, even to himself, he loved the big sullen bastard.

Light on his feet, Jaskier hopped out on some tall rocks until he stood on the third sort of stepping stone in the water, some six feet out into the waves.

“Jaskier. Don’t be a fool,” Geralt called, husky voice carrying. “Come back.”

“Make me,” Jaskier tossed back over his shoulder. He was behaving like an untried boy, he knew that, but Geralt made him so…  _ frustrated _ sometimes.

“ _Jaskier,_ ” Geralt called again, in warning.

The bard ignored him, strumming out a song on his lute, picking out the notes and raising his voice as the waves crashed gently around the rock he stood on. His own safety be damned, if he lured the sirens out, Geralt could come and bloody kill them already, and then Jaskier could be back in the tavern a half mile up the road, eating roasted meat and drinking wine and sleeping in a  _ bed _ not made of rocks.

_ Her voice crashes like waves _

_ The song of a maid _

_ My heartache, I’m sleepless with need _

His song carried. Jaskier was vaguely aware of Geralt yelling at him, but in a flash of movement, a female head, hair moving like a pile of seaweed, appeared above the water. Entranced, Jaskier stared. The siren stared back, and started to open her mouth. Jaskier felt himself take a step forward on the rock, as if being pulled by an invisible force. Her eyes held his, and the orbs of her pupils were as black as the seabed.

A sword scissored through the air, the blade all but whistling, and severed the siren’s head. It dropped into the water with a  _ plop. _

The spell broken, Jaskier turned, dizzy, then gaped at Geralt. “You could have hit me!”

“But I didn’t.” Geralt waded into the water, scooped up the head, eyed it dispassionately. He fished about for his sword and shoved it, one handed, into its scabbard. “Don’t do that again.”

“Worried about me, were you?” Jaskier needled, unable to stop prodding. 

“Yes.” Geralt rumbled. “Happy now?”

Jaskier smiled all the way back to the tavern.

  
  
  
  



End file.
